When It Stops Working, I'll Quit Doing It
by NeroMyHero90
Summary: Sometimes the only way to shut Hermione up is to give her something she doesn't expect. A kiss from Fred, perhaps?
1. Ronny Piggykins

A/N: Try as I might, I just can't stay away from Fred/Hermione stories. I've even gone so far as to write one…well, another one. Hopefully this will work out better than the first. This isn't supposed to be a one-shot, but maybe it'll work better if it was. Let me know in your review if you think I should continue.

_**Chapter 1: Ronny Piggykins**_

Hermione watched as the sun dipped slowly behind miles of rolling, green hills, and she sighed in contentment. It had been a beautiful summer day, with perfect weather and plenty of bright sunshine to warm the grounds of the Burrow. Hermione, of course, had spent most of her Saturday lounging under the shade of a tree and reading, but with the enthusiastic display of backyard Quidditch before her, she'd found it hard to concentrate for more than thirty seconds at a time. Ron made relaxing especially difficult—every time he managed to block a shot or figured out how to do a new trick on his broom, he'd shout down to Hermione and ask her if she'd seen.

"Yes, Ron," she would reply vaguely, then return to her book.

The boys and Ginny had returned to the house nearly an hour ago to wash up before dinner, leaving Hermione to the peace and quiet she'd been unable to attain all day. She read until the light began to fade around her, then closed her book and marveled at the orange and red sunset. Back at the Burrow, Hermione heard indistinct voices and laughter—the family and Harry were probably just sitting down to eat, and she figured she ought to join them.

Approaching the back door, Hermione could make out Molly Weasley's impatient tone most clearly.

"Ronald Weasley, you call _those _clean hands?" she pecked. "I swear, people must think I've never taught you proper hygiene!"

"Really, Ronnykins!" one of the twins added mockingly. Hermione thought it was Fred. "You are downright filthy! Like—like a pig!"

There was a sudden pop and a squeal from within the kitchen, followed Mrs. Weasley's horrified scream of "PIG!"

Hermione froze as she listened to the chaos inside the house. She was afraid to go in, unsure of what the twins' most recent prank had resulted in. It couldn't have been good, judging by the noises—chairs were overturned, dishes crashed to the ground, and the Weasleys were yelling, shouting, and even laughing.

Taking careful steps, Hermione came closer to the door and peered through the screen. Sure enough, she spotted Harry, Ginny, and Mr. Weasley running in circles around the kitchen, apparently chasing something she couldn't quite make out. Fred and George were leaning on each other, doubled over in hysterical laughter. Mrs. Weasley was standing atop a chair, holding a broom defensively, as if ready to strike an attacker.

And then Hermione saw the cause of the ruckus, but she didn't have nearly enough time to react. Barreling towards her and squealing like a banshee was a round, pink pig, with a tuft of bright red hair atop its head. It burst through the screen door and collided with Hermione's legs, sending her toppling backwards with a surprised shriek. She fell flat on her rump in a flowerbed and watched, wide-eyed, as the Weasley family tore out after the rampaging hog. Ginny was first, followed by Harry, Mr. Weasley, and even Percy, though his pace was much less fervent than the others'.

Mrs. Weasley trailed behind, still clinging desperately to her broom. As she went, she yelled, "Ron! Come back!"

Moments later, Fred and George ambled through the doorway, wiping away tears of laughter. They, along with Hermione, watched the rest of the family chase the screaming pig throughout the yard. The sight was quite comical, really—Harry falling clumsily to the ground as he lunged for the pig, Mr. Weasley shouting random instructions to aid in the animal's capture, and Mrs. Weasley waving her broom about as she trotted after the others.

George smiled at his brother and held out a hand. Fred shook it cordially and said, "Well done, brother, well done."

"Maybe I'll hop in the chase," George said lightly. "It does look like fun…"

Fred laughed as George threw his arms in the air and ran towards the others, making a strange call that sounded something like a choking turkey. It was only then that Fred noticed Hermione, glued to the ground and staring up at him in shock.

"Why, Hermione!" he said through a snicker. "What are you doing down there in the flowerbed?"

She suddenly remembered to close her gaping jaw and chose to set it in a scowl. "Gardening," she answered sarcastically. Fred offered her a hand up, but she was less than thankful for his help. "You turned Ron into a _pig_?!" she screeched.

"Well, technically, it was George who did the turning," he replied with an innocent shrug.

"That is so irresponsible!" She added to her point by smacking Fred hard on the shoulder. He cringed and faked severe injury, but Hermione ignored it. "You absolutely have no right! Transfiguring someone against their will is disgraceful and completely uncalled for! Especially your own brother! I cannot _believe _you would stoop to something—"

Fred was hardly listening while she scolded him. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard already, and he was prepared to hear it many times more. But, all the same, her screeching was actually causing him physical pain. He had to do something about it, even if it only silenced her for a few minutes. That would at least give him enough time to escape.

So, with an amused sigh, he leaned down to Hermione's face and planted a single kiss on her lips.

He didn't linger for long—only two or three seconds—and when he pulled away from her, he realized he'd achieved the desired result. Hermione's eyes were wide as saucers, her mouth was hanging open, and thankfully for Fred, she had finally shut up.

"You really _must _try to relax, Hermione," he said through a smile. And without another word, he headed off to the garden where everyone else was still in hot pursuit of Ronny Piggykins.


	2. Playing With Fire

A/N: Well, here we are. Obviously, this story is going to be a little longer than a one-shot, though I haven't really decided just how long I want to make it. At any rate, here's chapter two. I hope you enjoy, and I hope, hope, HOPE you review! Thanks bunches!

_**Chapter 2: Playing With Fire**_

Hermione didn't have proper words to explain what was going through her head as Fred walked away. She eventually ended on a single question, though it was unlike her to speak or even think in such terms.

What the hell?

Fred kissed her. Fred Weasley kissed her, Hermione Granger. She was shocked, horrified, and disgusted immediately; and while she pondered it, she realized she was also irritated, insulted, and angry. How _dare _he kiss her without her permission? A kiss was supposed to be romantic. It was supposed to leave you floating, happy, and eager for more.

But kissing Fred—if she even dared to call it that—was the exact opposite. After she'd had a few minutes to sort out her thoughts, she was ready to throttle him. Glancing across the yard, she saw the family was still busy chasing Ron around. For goodness sakes, didn't any of them have enough wits to realize they were wizards?

Hermione stamped across the grass and produced her wand, shooting an angry spell at the screaming pig. He stumbled as the sparks hit him, then his limbs and torso grew until he had fully returned to human form. The Weasleys fell silent while Ron regained his sense of awareness and stood. Then, in the next moment, chaos resumed. Ron threw himself at his brothers and they all rolled to the ground in a jumbled mass.

Mrs. Weasley approached Hermione, her grip loosening on her broomstick, and patted the younger witch's shoulder.

"Thank you, dear," she said sweetly, unconcerned with the boys' brawling. "I'd forgotten my wand in the house, I was so flustered!" She shook her head and mumbled, "Those boys are in so much trouble."

The Weasleys made their way back inside one by one, letting Ron, Fred and George duke it out on their own. Harry and Ginny remained a while to watch, encouraging the handicap wrestling match with their jeers and catcalls.

Eventually, Ron figured out that he wasn't enough for Fred and George together, so he got up from the fray and stormed into the house. He passed Hermione and mumbled "thanks," but hardly spoke the rest of the evening. Ginny and Harry went to catch up with Ron, leaving only the twins and Hermione. She put her hands firmly on her hips and glared at Fred as he brushed himself off, still laughing.

"Oh, come on, Hermione," George chuckled. "Admit it. It was funny!"

"Not at all," she replied.

"You've always known Ron was a pig," added Fred. "We were just making it obvious to everyone else."

George came to Hermione's side and slung his arm over her shoulders. "Look—mum's going to kill us as it is. Can't you let us off the hook just this once?" he pleaded.

"Ugh," she said, shrugging his arm off her. "I hope Mrs. Weasley locks you up in a dungeon for the rest of the summer!"

"Does that mean you forgive us?" George asked with false sweetness. When Hermione didn't answer, only glared at him some more, George laughed and headed for the house. "Good enough for me."

Fred had only hesitated a second, but it was just enough time for Hermione to halt him.

"Fred Weasley," she snarled. "I am _very _upset with you."

He sighed through a smirk. "I figured as much."

Hermione got very close to him and lowered her voice so no one else could overhear. "How dare you do that to me!"

"We didn't do it to _you, _Hermione. Ron was the pig, remember?"

"Not that!" she shouted, then decreased her volume again. "The—kiss!"

"Oh," he said with a laugh. "That."

"Yes, that! You are totally and completely foul!"

Fred was still smirking. "You didn't enjoy it at all?"

"What!?"

"I'm kidding, Hermione, really. I meant what I said, you know. You have got to try to relax a little."

"I don't want to relax! Ron should have turned _you _into a pig, because you are absolutely—"

He cut her off again with another kiss, and she stopped talking immediately. It was exactly the same as the first—short, sweet, and not really significant at all—and it had the same effect. Hermione looked up at him, all anger temporarily drained from her cinnamon eyes. They stared at each other for several long moments before Hermione shook her head and was able to think.

"Would you _stop _doing that?" she insisted vehemently, visibly flustered.

Fred smiled and shrugged. "When it stops working, I'll quit doing it."

He winked and sauntered into the house, leaving Hermione fuming. He was playing with fire, and he knew it; Hermione could hex him to oblivion and back if she wanted, but that was what made it so much fun. A couple innocent kisses weren't going to hurt anybody. And damn it, Hermione _did_ need to loosen up. He couldn't spend his entire summer at the Burrow with her harping and screeching at him all the time.

It was all in good fun, really. Hermione would be able to see that in the end.


	3. Botched Brew

A/N: This chapter is a bit longer than the others, so I hope you like it. For the record, know that I'll be more inclined to update if your reviews tell me I should. Enjoy!

_**Chapter 3: Botched Brew**_

Grumbling in exasperation, Hermione stormed after Fred, slamming the screen door behind her as she came into the kitchen. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to begin a heated rant, but Mrs. Weasley beat her to it.

"I cannot believe you two! A _pig?! _Your own brother?! It's absolutely inexcusable!" She groaned and threw up her hands. "To your room! NOW!"

"But mum!" George complained. "We haven't had any supper yet!"

"I DON'T CARE! GO!"

Begrudgingly, the twins slowly made their way up the stairs. Hermione was disappointed that she didn't have the opportunity to tell Fred off, but then she realized that depriving the twins of a meal was almost punishment enough. Almost.

"And you are NOT to leave that room until I say!" Molly shouted up after them. She shook her head and sighed heavily, then turned to the rest of the family. "Well then, let's eat, shall we?"

Hermione, Harry and the Weasleys had a fairly uneventful dinner that night, thanks in large part to the absence of the twins. Conversation was limited because Ron was still grumpy, and no one wanted to risk upsetting him further by enjoying themselves too much. They ate and dismissed themselves one by one, retreating to the living room to digest their food.

After the enormous feast, Hermione and Ginny returned to the kitchen to help Mrs. Weasley clean up. They found her pacing back and forth, carrying dirty dishes to the sink, and muttering to herself incoherently.

Hermione glanced to Ginny, then asked, "Mrs. Weasley?"

"I just can't do it," she announced in reply. "I can't let them go hungry."

"They're _fine,_ mum," Ginny consoled.

Molly shook her head. "Take a tray up to them, will you, Ginny?"

"Fred and George will survive one night without dinner," she protested. "Besides, locking them in their own room is hardly a prison sentence. They've got tons of stuff to do and eat up there."

But Mrs. Weasley wasn't convinced. The guilt had begun to weigh too heavily on her motherly soul. "Hermione, dear?"

Hermione sighed, but took the towering plate of sandwiches anyway. She agreed with Ginny, but she couldn't possibly say no to Molly, who had always been such a kind and generous host.

"But make sure you tell them I'm still furious," Mrs. Weasley added, trying her best to actually sound that way.

Hermione climbed the stairs carefully so that she wouldn't upset her tray or lose her footing. When she came to the landing outside the twins' room, she grew suspicious immediately. There were no sounds coming from inside—no chaos, no laughter, not even whining. It was eerily quiet.

She used her foot to knock, as her hands were full, and listened. Nobody beckoned her inside, but she wasn't deterred. Cautiously, she balanced the tray on her hip and freed her hand to try the doorknob. Not surprisingly, it was locked. Her wand was only inches away, tucked safely in her pocket. If she could just reach it…

Unfortunately, Hermione wasn't that coordinated. The tray slipped from her grip and crashed to the floor, scattering the sandwiches everywhere. She groaned in frustration.

Just as she pulled out her wand to clean up the mess, the door before her opened. Fred was on the other side, smiling curiously as he noted the fallen tray and Hermione's flustered expression.

"Hello there," he greeted cordially. "Can I help you?"

Hermione sighed. "Your mother wanted me to bring you sandwiches—so there they are."

"Well, we can't eat those!" he said with fake disgust. "They've been on the floor!"

"I guess that's too bad, then," she replied, shrugging. "Why didn't you answer the door when I knocked?"

"Didn't hear knocking. I heard thumping, but I figured it was a poltergeist or something. Was that you?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and didn't answer. She was too full and content to begin another argument with Fred, or even continue the one she had saved from earlier, so she started back down the stairs.

"Wait, Hermione, come back," Fred called after her. He stuck his head out the door and peered around, as if making sure there was no one else in the hall. "I want to show you something."

She lifted a brow. "No thanks. I'm still angry at you."

"Come on! Forget that you're angry for five minutes. You'll love this."

"I highly doubt that."

"But you were the inspiration for it. You can't _not_ love it." With another smile, he disappeared inside his room. Hermione looked after him, wondering if she should dare enter the mad scientists' laboratory. What could she have possibly inspired him to create? She was too curious to let it be, so she followed Fred into the room, stepping over the tray of forgotten sandwiches.

"Okay, what is it?" she asked, trying not to show too much interest.

"Close the door, will you?"

She pushed the door shut and turned around again. It was then that she noticed something strange. Fred was huddled over a tiny, black cauldron, stirring a bluish liquid. There were boxes of various items and creations strewn across the room—but something important was missing.

"Where's George?"

Fred glanced over his shoulder. "He went to pick up some more supplies."

"Mrs. Weasley said you weren't allowed to leave," she reminded condescendingly.

"Yes, well," Fred answered with a wave of the hand. "This was important. I'm on the verge of a breakthrough."

"Of what?"

Using a ladle, Fred poured some of the blue liquid into a tiny vial and swirled it. The color changed from blue, to emerald green, to soft pink, and back to blue. Fred smiled victoriously.

"Here," he said, "give it a try."

Hermione's eyes bulged. "I'm not going to be a guinea pig for one of your abominations!"

"But you gave me the idea. You have the right to test it out." Hermione glared at him, mind unchanging. "Fine," he said. "I'll do it."

He uncorked the vial and guzzled the potion down, scrunching up his face unpleasantly. He and Hermione waited several minutes for something, anything to happen.

"Well?" she finally prompted, tired of the anticipation.

"It tastes horrible," he said. "I'll have to work on that."

"But what's it supposed to do? Does it work?"

Fred suddenly narrowed his eyes at Hermione and his tone changed dramatically. "What do you mean, _does it work_? Of course it works!"

"What's it doing, then?" she pushed.

"Exactly what it's supposed to!"

Hermione sighed. "Which is?"

"Ugh!" Fred grunted, tossing his hands up. "You just don't understand my _genius. _You never have!"

Blinking in utter confusion, Hermione stared at Fred. He was acting—weird. It must have been a side effect of the potion he'd just ingested.

"Fred, I think your potion's gone wrong," she said calmly.

"My potion!" he exclaimed angrily. His voice had jumped two or three octaves, and the sound was grating. "It has nothing to do with my potion. It's about you _always _disrespecting me!"

Hermione was at a loss. "Disrespecting you? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, just forget it," Fred spat. "I've got enough to worry about without you judging me."

She almost wasn't able to restrain her laughter. What was wrong with him? Fred was usually so carefree, so laidback. Hermione watched as he started pacing nervously, stirring the contents of his cauldron with anxious fingers.

"Blimey, I wish George would get back," he mumbled quietly.

Hermione approached him slowly, amused with his odd behavior, but concerned all the same. She didn't know what was in the potion, and she didn't know what kind of effects it would ultimately have on its drinker.

"Fred?" she began.

He jumped almost a foot in the air, knocking over a bottle of lacewing flies. As he hurriedly began cleaning up after himself, he scolded Hermione over his shoulder. "Don't do that! I'm trying to concentrate!"

This was downright bizarre. Hermione had never seen Fred so tense. His shoulders were set rigidly, and his entire body looked ready to spring. She didn't know what to do.

Luckily, before Fred could hurt himself or yell at Hermione any further, George Apparated with a pop into the room. His hands were full of jars and bags of assorted items.

"Hermione?" he asked, more surprised than upset at her presence. "What are you doing here?"

She pointed at Fred, simply perplexed. "Your brother needs your help."

George looked at Fred curiously. "What's she talking about?"

"Don't ask me!" Fred countered defensively. "Where have you been? I need those ingredients NOW!" He crossed the room and ripped two or three bags from George's hands, then returned to the cauldron.

George blinked and glanced to Hermione. "He drank some of that potion over there," she explained. "And he's been acting really strangely ever since."

"Oy, you dolt!" George exclaimed. "It wasn't finished yet!"

"What's it supposed to do?" Hermione asked. "Fred told me I inspired it, but I don't see how."

With that, George allowed himself a small chuckle. "Well, you _did _inspire it. We were going to call it 'Hermione Granger's Bottled Euphoria.' Or something along those lines. The drinker is supposed to feel insanely relaxed and calm— totally stress-free. But I guess without a few ingredients, the result is…the opposite."

Hermione didn't know which part of that sentence to react to first. "Is that supposed to be _ironic?_"

"A little bit," George laughed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Can you reverse it?"

"It's best to let it wear off," George replied. "Could be ten minutes, ten hours, ten days—it's hard to say how long it'll take."

With a groan, Hermione made her way toward the door. "You two are such idiots."

Fred whipped around and gawked at her with wide eyes. "How dare you!" he yelped.

George laughed. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell mum about this, Hermione. She's mad enough as it is."

She shook her head and walked out, closing the door behind her. She wouldn't tell Mrs. Weasley. She figured the effects of this botched brew would serve as enough of a punishment.

Hermione had no idea just how right she was.


	4. Grown Ups

A/N: I'd very quickly like to say thank you to all my readers, and **double** thank you to those who took the time to review. This chapter was fun to write, so I hope you get a kick out of it as well. On with the story!

_**Chapter 4: Grown Ups**_

The rest of the night passed without incident—at least for Hermione. She didn't know how George was dealing with Fred's new attitude, but she didn't care much, either. She returned to the living room and spent her evening reading and talking with Ginny, occasionally glancing up while Harry and Ron played chess.

Next morning, Hermione trotted downstairs refreshed and ready for the day. Her mood was light—lighter than it had been in a while—and she was excited to take advantage of the perfect weather outside. She almost skipped breakfast entirely to get a head start on reading, but the smells of Mrs. Weasley's cooking were too hard to resist.

Hermione sat at the table and greeted the others warmly, taking a piece of toast and smothering it with jam. Most of the family was already there in the midst of their meals—in fact, all were present but Fred and George. Just as she realized it, George appeared, sighing as he slumped into his seat. He looked exhausted.

"Where's your other half, George?" Harry asked him casually.

The very mention of his brother made George groan. He rubbed his eyes and said, "Still locked away upstairs, I imagine."

"Well, what's he doing up there?" Mrs. Weasley turned toward the staircase and shouted, "Fred! Breakfast!"

"He's not coming," George replied. "He's working."

"On what?" Ginny asked, confused.

"I've got no idea, but he's been driving me mad about it. He stayed up all night—literally _all night—_doing paperwork for the shop, mixing potions, experimenting with new products…I could hardly sleep."

While the others furrowed their brows in bewilderment, Hermione did her best to hide a smile. She knew what had caused Fred's odd behavior, and watching its outcome was more amusing than she could have predicted. The potion, it seemed, had not yet worn off.

"Well," Hermione said, sarcastically optimistic, "at least he'll be productive at work."

George shook his head angrily. "I'm not letting him anywhere near the shop today. We'd end up murdering each other. The boy needs bed rest—lots and lots of bed rest."

"I'll check on him after breakfast," Mrs. Weasley said worriedly.

"Best not to, mum," George warned. "He'll bite your head off for disturbing him."

Hermione lifted a brow. _Maybe now he'll be too busy to harass me, _she thought with a laugh. If only.

Later, most of the family had left for their daily errands and engagements. George Apparated to his shop without Fred, Mr. Weasley went to work, and Mrs. Weasley made sure to inform everyone that she was carting Ron off to shop for new underwear. Harry, Ginny and Hermione were the only ones left in the house, without counting Fred. He hadn't left his room all morning, and thus his presence went forgotten.

At least, it went forgotten for a while. Without anything better to do, Harry and Ginny decided to stir up their own bit of trouble. They knew, for whatever reason, that Fred was irritable, so they took turns bouncing up to his room and tapping on the door, asking nonsensical questions, and stomping up and down the stairs. With each disturbance, Fred would shout and scream furiously, and Harry and Ginny would run away, howling with laughter.

Hermione thought it pointless to get involved, humorous as it may have been, and stayed by herself in the living room. She considered reading, but knew she'd find no peace and quiet while Harry and Ginny tortured Fred. She suddenly remembered her plan to enjoy the sunny weather, and skipped out to the garden, book in hand.

As she approached her favorite tree—the one with the greenest leaves and most shade—she squinted in confusion. There, nestled into her accustomed nook of tree roots, was Fred Weasley. Not only that—Fred Weasley reading a _book. _This was getting too strange.

Hermione walked up to him, half smiling, half annoyed that he'd taken her favorite reading place.

"Fred?" she asked. Like last night, he jumped in surprise at the sound of her voice.

"Blimey, Hermione!" he scolded in reply. "What did I tell you about that?"

"Sorry." She kneeled beside him. "Fred, are you _reading_?"

He looked up at her like she was an idiot. "I _was, _before you so rudely interrupted."

"But why?"

"I've got research to do," he said shortly, "and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't bother me like Harry and my nagging sister."

"I was just asking a question," Hermione said defensively. "You don't have to be so rude."

"You're the rude one. I was out here minding my own business until you barged in."

Hermione's mouth fell open in indignation. "Barged in? Please, Fred. You're sitting under a _tree._"

"Yes, and it was actually pretty nice before you showed up!"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione took a deep breath and settled against the tree trunk. She forced herself to remember that Fred's lack of manners was most probably due to the potion, and she only had to endure it for a few days, at most.

"There's no reason why we both can't read here," she finally said.

Fred moaned in protest. "No! You don't understand! I'm actually doing real _work!_" He gestured to his book and a pad that he'd apparently been taking notes on. "You know, sometimes grown ups have to act like grown ups, Hermione! It can't all be fun and games and jokes! I have a business to run!"

Hermione stared in wonder. He continued chastising her, though she only caught every couple words due to his rapid pace of speech. Fred Weasley was going insane. There was no other explanation for it—he had to be losing his mind, right there in front of her. _He _was giving _her _a lecture about responsibilities and maturity, and she had no idea how to reason with him.

Hermione soon realized that there _was _no reasoning with him. He was a man possessed, and there was no room for logic in his argument. All the same, she was tired of listening to his rant, and really wished he'd just stuff it.

With an exasperated sigh, Hermione placed her hand on the side of Fred's face and leaned into him. Their lips met in a kiss—a heated contrast to the gentle pecks Fred had offered before. In her mind, Hermione rationalized that if she was going to do this, she would have to do it right. She had to take Fred so off-guard that he'd lose his tongue completely.

And, remarkably, he did. She felt the tension in Fred's body melt away as she moved her lips against his. When she pulled away, he had a dazed, clouded look in his eyes, and he seemed unable to say a word.

"Hm," Hermione grunted amusedly. She stood up and brushed herself off. "I guess it really does work."


	5. Role Reversal

A/N: Here's another fun one for you, my faithful readers. It's extra-long for your reading pleasure (tee hee), and I tossed in a couple chuckle-worthy moments.

Thanks a billion if you feel frisky enough to leave me a review!

_**Chapter 5: Role Reversal**_

Hermione never thought that doing something so wrong could be so exciting.

It had been an impulsive decision to kiss Fred, but she didn't feel guilty, disgusted, or ashamed at all. Instead, she was experiencing an intense and rather enjoyable adrenaline rush. Not because it was Fred that she'd kissed, but because she'd done something completely irrational and foolish. Something totally unlike her.

Ironically, she thought that if Fred hadn't been under the influence of his potion, he would have been proud of her.

Deep down, Hermione knew she was a devious and cunning witch. She _had_ to be if she wanted to keep up with Harry and Ron—the three of them had broken so many rules together it was almost sickening. Through all of that, though, Hermione only disobeyed laws out of necessity. She was mischievous because she had to be, not because she enjoyed the reactions of other parties involved. Not because she liked the risk of getting caught, and especially not because she loved to tease, torment, and shock her friends.

But as she walked away from Fred and returned to the house, Hermione couldn't help but feel exhilarated for those exact reasons. She _had _enjoyed Fred's reaction. She _knew _she'd be in trouble if anyone else found out. And she _loved _that she had discovered a new way to torment the twins. She was, after all, the only other person who knew about the potion. She understood what it did to Fred, and what it was consequently doing to George. Those poor boys; they had no idea that she planned to milk it for all it was worth.

Hermione smiled impishly. She wanted to prove to herself and to everyone else that she was perfectly capable of relaxing and having fun. It seemed that the opportunity for revenge and personal entertainment had suddenly presented itself in a single, convenient package.

Fred Weasley.

* * *

Hermione didn't see Fred at all that afternoon. He may have been avoiding her, or he may have just been too caught up in his work to socialize. Either scenario was funny to consider. Fred Weasley, avoiding _her? _Fred Weasley, too busy to _socialize? _She laughed every time she thought of it.

When George came home, he collapsed into a kitchen chair and leaned heavily on the tabletop. Hermione and Ginny were helping Mrs. Weasley prepare dinner, so they were the first to hear about his hectic workday.

"It was unbelievable!" he moaned. "People were all over the place. I didn't even have time to eat lunch, I was so busy!" He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Please tell me Fred is acting normal again. I don't think I can go another day without his help."

Hermione bit her lip to hide a smile. "I'm not sure," she fibbed. "I haven't seen him around."

"His mood hasn't improved much," Ginny added. "He was yelling at me and Harry all morning."

George sighed. "Fantastic."

"I'm starting to worry," Mrs. Weasley said. "Fred doesn't usually skip meals just to _work. _I'll be he's starving. That's probably why he's been so cranky. George, make sure he comes down for dinner."

"Yeah," he scoffed, standing up slowly. "I'll see what I can do."

It was with obvious reluctance that Fred finally left his room and joined his family for dinner. George had to shove him all the way down the stairs and into his seat. He took the chair across from his twin and released a long, exasperated breath.

"Fred!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed jokingly. "Good to see you again!"

Fred didn't respond, but helped himself to a small pile of mashed potatoes. His gaze darted around the table nervously until he met Hermione's inquiring stare. She offered him a coy smirk, and his eyes widened marginally before he turned his attention back to his mashed potatoes. She giggled quietly and carried on with her meal.

Only a few minutes into the feast, Fred pushed his plate away and stood. "I'm getting back to work," he announced.

"Fred, what in the _world _have you been doing up there?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Business. There are a lot of forms and things I need to fill out. Tomorrow I'm going to—"

"Tomorrow you're coming back to the shop," George finished.

Fred rolled his eyes. "I get a lot more done here—even _with _all the distractions." He flashed a cold, brief glare in Hermione's direction.

"I don't care about paperwork. If we get another rush like we did today, I won't be able to keep up. I need your help."

"It's always _something,_" Fred mumbled in irritation. "Fine. If you can't handle it on your own, I'll pick up the slack." He turned his back on his family and climbed the stairs, slamming his bedroom door a few moments later.

The next day, Hermione discovered that Fred and George had left for the shop at the crack of dawn in order to get a head start on stocking shelves and organizing records. She was troubled by this because it limited her time to begin her new scheme. The potion could wear off at anytime, and once it did, Hermione wouldn't be able to take advantage of it. She had to act quickly if she was going to have any fun at all.

The solution came to her while she ate breakfast with Harry and Ron. The boys were busy stuffing their faces, so Hermione was able to speak uninterrupted.

"We don't have anything planned for today, do we?" she asked, innocently enough so her friends wouldn't get suspicious.

"Not that I'm aware of," Harry answered.

"I think we should take a trip to Diagon Alley. I want to stop at Flourish and Blotts—it's been almost two _whole _weeks since I've gotten a new book—and then maybe we could see what your brothers are up to, Ron."

Ron shrugged his shoulders. "I don't care much about what they're up to." He wouldn't admit it, but he was obviously still bitter about the Ronny Piggykins incident.

Hermione sighed. "Well, with the way Fred's been acting, I wouldn't be surprised if they're killing each other by now. You'd like to see that, wouldn't you?"

When he paused to picture it, and a slow smile spread across his face, Hermione knew she'd won her argument. She was devastatingly good at persuasion.

"Okay," Ron finally said. "I'll go. Harry?"

"Sure," Harry added.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Hermione, Ron and Harry had arrived at Diagon Alley with the help of the Floo network. They wandered down the bustling street, peering into windows and admiring displays. On most other days, Hermione would have been content to meander lazily with her best friends, but today held a sense of urgency. She didn't really want to go to Flourish and Blotts, but it was necessary to make the trip believable. They only shopped for ten minutes before Hermione informed the boys that she couldn't find anything she wanted. They left without protest from Harry or Ron.

Over the course of the previous night, Hermione had come up with numerous ways to get under Fred's skin. By the time she'd stepped into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, she was itching with anticipation to test one or two out. Honestly, she couldn't remember exactly when she became so diabolical. Spending time with Fred and George all these years must have been rubbing off on her. She was getting wound up and taking absolute pleasure in driving someone else bonkers. What had the world come to?

She approached the counter and saw that only George was standing there. Ron and Harry noticed, too.

"Aww, don't tell me you've murdered him already?" Ron bemoaned.

George glanced up, eyebrow lifted. "No, not yet. Why? You want to do it for me?"

"No. We just wanted to watch," Harry tossed in.

"Well, I may not have to after all."

Hermione's stomach fell. Did that mean the potion had worn off and Fred was back to normal? That she couldn't get him flustered with a few well-chosen words?

"Why's that?" she tried to ask subtly.

"He's locked himself in the back room to 'sort out my mess.' Haven't seen him in hours," George answered with a shrug.

"He seems to like locking himself alone in places," Ron commented, fiddling with a box of Skiving Snackboxes.

"I guess so," George replied. "It's lucky for him we haven't been too busy today. He'd probably be missing a limb or two if he was still out here badgering me."

Ron chuckled. "I can't say that'd be a bad thing." He turned to Hermione, almost disappointed. "It looks like we're not getting a show today. Want to head over to Quality Quidditch Supplies?"

Hermione gave him a skeptical look. "Do you really need to ask me that question?"

"No," he said, grinning sheepishly. "Me and Harry are going to go for a few minutes, then. Okay?"

"Sure," she replied offhandedly. With a wave, she bid them farewell and watched as they left the shop. Hermione stayed by the counter and leaned on it, glancing back to George.

"So," she began casually, "the Bottled Euphoria still not working out?"

"Well, you would know," he replied with a halfhearted smile. "I think you're enjoying my pain a little too much, Hermione."

She laughed. "That's what you get for experimenting so recklessly."

"Hey, I wasn't the idiot who drank the potion. Why do I have to be the one paying for it? I think Fred actually _likes _being the bossy-boots. He's insufferable!"

Hermione sighed. She couldn't recall the number of times she'd been referred to as a bossy-boots; the insufferable know-it-all. It looked like Fred was prepared to give her a run for her money in that department.

"How long do you think he'll be like this?" she eventually asked.

George rolled his eyes. "That's the thing. I was looking into some of the ingredients we used for the potion—you know, seeing how they interact with each other, duration periods, things like that. The best I can tell, I've got a week, maybe two of this new and improved Fred." He shook his head. "I'm going to lose my bloody mind."

Hermione was surprised. "But he only drank a little vial of the stuff. How could it affect him for so long?"

"Something about the way the powdered moonstone reacts to scurvy-grass. It's gonna be a long haul, Hermione. Help me? Please?" he pleaded.

She laughed. "Sorry, George. You're on your own." Just as she said this, a small boy approached the counter, a Pygmy Puff clutched in his hand. Hermione ambled away so George could make his sale. While she searched through the aisles, she considered their conversation. A week? Maybe two? That was plenty of time to develop some fun little mind games for Fred. She could start jotting her plans down as soon as she got back to the Burrow.

But for now, Hermione had another idea. She stopped at a towering display of Canary Creams and smiled. It was at least eight feet tall, built in an upside-down pyramid shape. The spell keeping it vertical must have been weak, since the entire structure looked to be wobbling unstably. Oh, this was perfect. Hermione lifted her toe inconspicuously and swiped the bottommost box out from the rest. The display wavered hazardously, then crumpled to the floor in a thundering crash. Canary Creams filled the aisle, and Hermione was left standing in the middle of it.

She flushed with embarrassment, even though creating the disarray had been her intention. George peeked around the corner to see the cause of the noise and sighed tiredly. He may have been amused, he may have been annoyed; Hermione couldn't quite tell.

"Clean up on aisle two," he announced to no one.

Before he could take another step, the door of the stock room burst open. Fred came storming out, craning his neck to see what had happened. When he finally discovered Hermione amid the scattered Canary Creams, his eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open.

"Look at this mess!" he screeched pathetically. "Hermione, what did you do?!"

"It was an accident," she protested lamely. Over Fred's shoulder, she saw George retreat backwards and mouth, "He's your problem now!"

"An accident," Fred repeated, rushing forward. He stooped to the floor and picked up the fallen products one by one, placing them in tidy stacks of ten. "It's always an accident when you don't want to face the consequences."

"It _was _an accident," she began, amazed at how easily the lie flowed from her mouth. "And what consequences are you talking about?"

"I could ban you from the shop," he said firmly. "And on a more personal note, I could decide to never speak to you again."

She almost lost it at that. "Oh please, Fred. I don't think either of those punishments would upset me too greatly."

He snorted irritably and stood up again to face her. "Do you _enjoy _making me angry? Do you think it's funny that you've just given me another hour of work to do?"

In her mind, Hermione replied _yes _and _yes_, but she couldn't bring herself to say it aloud.

"You're overreacting," she said instead. She even added a carefree chuckle just for fun.

"Don't tell me I'm overreacting! I'm taking my life seriously, and this is the kind of treatment I get for it? What happened to respect, Hermione? Doesn't everyone deserve respect?"

She rolled her eyes and bent to the ground, picking up a Canary Cream box and pretending to read its label.

"Fred," she began lightly, "do you need a hug?"

He stared at her through squinted eyes. "No, I don't need a blasted hug!"

"I think you need a hug," she went on. Dropping the box again to the floor, she took two giant steps forward and nearly tackled Fred in a tight embrace. She didn't know if she could call it a bear hug, since she was much shorter and slighter than Fred, but that was what she was going for.

He struggled against her briefly, but her iron grip was impossible to break. Besides that, Hermione obviously wasn't letting go until he gave in. He sighed loudly, his breath just wafting over her hair, and stood there while she squeezed the life out of him. He wouldn't hug her back, but she didn't expect him to, either.

After thirty long seconds of the pointless exchange, Hermione released Fred and smiled up at him. He looked completely fed up with her, and she knew she was starting to push her luck.

"See? Hugs make everything better." With another smile, she patted him lightly on the shoulder and exited the shop. Sometimes it felt so good to be bad.


	6. Bottled Rage

A/N: Hey everyone! I know it's been a little while since I've updated, but I appreciate you coming back and sticking with the story. I still have a very clear plan of where I'd like to go and I have every intention of finishing.

Thanks again to everyone who's been kind enough to leave me a review. I have another favor to ask of you, though. So far, we know that Hermione is making plans to "torture" Fred by coming up with pranks that'll drive him crazy. I'd love it if you would give me some suggestions about what kind of pranks you'd like to see Hermione pull off. I would of course give you proper credit and be eternally grateful for your ideas!

And finally, the "kissing facts" in this chapter were found in an article on AOL personals. I spotted them a few weeks ago and thought they were interesting, so I hope you think so, too. Enjoy!

_**Chapter 6: Bottled Rage**_

After leaving Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Hermione decided to take the long way to Quality Quidditch Supplies. She was in no rush to stand around and wait while Harry and Ron drooled over the newest model of broomstick. On her way, she stopped at a magazine kiosk and browsed the titles. She picked up the newest copy of _Witch Weekly _and flipped through the pages. About halfway through, one particular article caught her eye.

_10 THINGS YOU NEVER KNEW ABOUT KISSING_

She snorted with laughter. Hermione had always assumed kissing was a fairly straightforward concept. Were there really ten things she didn't know about locking lips? Normally she wouldn't care, but the recent events with Fred had sparked her curiosity. She began to read the article, only to have the magazine snatched away from her by the owner of the stand.

"No freebies," the gray-haired witch said shortly. "Pay for it or leave."

Hermione blinked. She didn't really want the magazine, and it would only take her thirty seconds to glance over the list, but that didn't seem to matter to the old woman. With a sigh, Hermione purchased the copy of _Witch Weekly _and walked away without another word. It was too nice a day and she was in too good a mood to start an argument over a silly magazine. As she continued down Diagon Alley, she opened again to the kissing article and began reading its introduction. She'd only gotten through five words before she was interrupted again—this time by Ron's excited voice.

"Hermione!" he shouted. He and Harry weaved through the crowds, coming toward her with wide, matching smiles. Ron was holding a square package tight against his chest.

"Are you finished already?" Hermione asked in shock. She couldn't remember the last time her best friends left that Quidditch shop willingly, without her dragging them out by the collars.

"Yeah. Check this out," Ron said, holding up his box. "It's called a Hot Quaffle. You toss it around in a circle as quick as you can without dropping it. Harry says it's like a muggle game—what was it? Hot Turnip?"

"Potato," Harry corrected with a smile.

"Yeah, whatever." Ron was beaming as he read the side of the box. "And they even give you a spell that can make it explode."

"Explode?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"Well, not into a thousand little pieces or anything. I guess it sort of puffs a bunch of smoke in your face and makes a loud noise. Isn't it great?"

Hermione laughed. "Sure, Ron. Great." As she looked more closely at the package, she asked, "How much did you spend on this?"

"It wasn't _that _expensive," Harry said defensively, noting Hermione's disapproval.

"Harry and I split the cost," added Ron. "Besides, this thing is worth it. Let's go home so we can try it out!"

He darted past Hermione in a flurry of excitement, Harry following closely behind. She had no other option than to roll her eyes and trail after them.

When the trio finally returned to the Burrow, Harry and Ron hurried out to the garden to experiment with their new toy. Hermione joined them mostly out of curiosity—she wanted to see who would get a face full of smoke first. Sitting under her favorite tree, she stretched her legs out in front of her and watched her friends. They poked and prodded the Quaffle, examining it like it was some kind of dangerous animal. After a few minutes, Ron decided to pick it up. He held it loosely, tossing it back and forth between his hands.

"It's not doing anything!" he announced angrily. He turned toward Hermione, as if she could tell him how to make the thing work. She shrugged, no more knowledgeable than Ron.

"Maybe you should read the instructions," she suggested, knowing they hadn't done so.

Ron grumbled at the idea and chucked the Quaffle at Harry, who caught it against his chest and took his turn at investigating it. After a few moments, his puzzled expression shifted to surprise, then pain.

"Ow!" he exclaimed in a yelp. He threw the ball back at Ron and shook his hands to cool them. Ron caught the Quaffle instinctually, unaware that the product had begun performing. He only held it a second before he realized it, though. With a disturbingly girlish squeak, he juggled the Quaffle clumsily until he was able to thrust it back toward Harry. They continued this pattern for five full minutes before Harry gathered enough common sense to toss the Hot Quaffle on the grass.

Hermione, watching the show a comfortable distance away, was unable to control her laughter. She couldn't help it; seeing her best friends screeching and howling every time they touched the ball was undeniably hilarious. With some effort, she managed to cease her giggling long enough to pick up the empty Hot Quaffle box. A label on the front corner read "For Ages 3 and Up." Well, if toddlers could use the product, then Harry and Ron should be able to handle it, too.

Hermione skimmed over the instructions, still laughing. She read aloud, "To activate the Hot Quaffle, hold between hands for five seconds. Hot Quaffle will deactivate itself after two minutes of nonuse."

Ron rolled his eyes, blowing on his palms. "Now you tell us."

Though their first experience with the Hot Quaffle had been unpleasant, Hermione knew that Harry and Ron wouldn't be deterred for long. The two of them were at it again after only ten minutes. This time, though, Hermione didn't watch them with as much interest. She suddenly remembered the magazine she bought, so she went to the house to retrieve it.

"All right," she said, dropping beside the tree again. Harry and Ron were still preoccupied with the Hot Quaffle, hardly noticing her short absence. "Ten things I never knew about kissing. We'll see." Hermione opened to the article and began reading.

_1. Just like fingerprints, no two lip impressions are alike. _

Hermione grunted. She remembered hearing that from Lavender Brown. Next, please.

_2. Talk about a workout! While a simple peck uses only two muscles, a passionate kiss uses all thirty-four muscles in your face. _

Well, that seemed logical. She still wasn't terribly impressed.

_3. Men who kiss their partners before leaving for work average a higher salary than those who don't. _

_4. The average person spends 336 hours of his or her life kissing. _

_5. The average woman kisses 29 men before she gets married. _

Hermione lifted a brow at those last few. It looked like she'd have some work to do if she wanted to catch up to the "averages."

_6. Two out of every three couples turn their heads to the right when they kiss. _

That one made sense, too. Vaguely, she recalled that she and Fred both turned their heads to the right when they'd kissed. Only, the rule couldn't apply to them since they weren't a couple.

_7. XOXO! Ever wonder how an X came to represent a kiss? In the Middle Ages, those who couldn't read signed their name with an X. They would then kiss the mark as a sign of sincerity. Eventually, the X has come to stand for the kiss itself. _

Okay. She didn't know that one.

_8. Research shows that kissing improves skin, helps circulation, prevents tooth decay, and can relieve headaches. _

_9. Kissing releases the same neurotransmitters as running or bungee jumping. What a rush! _

Hermione laughed aloud. This silly little article was putting her experiences with Fred into great perspective. No wonder she'd felt practically giddy after kissing him under the tree. She wasn't going crazy. It was a biological response! Not only was the kiss a good way to fluster Fred—it had been healthy for her, too!

_10. Recent studies indicate that swapping spit can encourage the production of antibodies to help fight infections in our systems. Who needs medicine? _

She stuck her tongue out at this one. If the idea of "swapping spit" hadn't been so disgusting, Hermione may have found the last fact fascinating. It seemed that the magazine hadn't been a complete waste after all. She'd learned a few interesting things—relatively worthless things, but interesting nonetheless.

While she browsed through a few other articles, Harry and Ron began trying the spell that would make their Hot Quaffle explode. She overheard Harry explain that the incantation would start an internal timer. Once the time expired, the Quaffle would blow up in the hands of whoever was unlucky enough to be holding it.

Hermione happened to glance up just as the Quaffle landed in Ron's possession. Before he could send it away again, a cloud of purple smoke erupted from it with a huge _pop. _The smoke eventually cleared, revealing a layer of blackish soot caked to Ron's face. Harry toppled to the ground in a fit of hysterics and Hermione covered her mouth to hide her growing smile. They would be amused by that stupid Quaffle for weeks to come.

Suddenly, and for no obvious reason, Hermione was bludgeoned with the memory of that morning. She needed to brainstorm ways to drive Fred crazy over the next two weeks! She was almost shocked that she'd forgotten—but it didn't matter. She had all afternoon.

After finding some parchment from the house, she sat outside and let her imagination wander. She made a list of what she knew aggravated Fred, then tried to base her plans around those elements. It wasn't as difficult as she thought it would be; all she had to do was imagine what would have frustrated _her, _had she been working on an important project for school. With this method, Hermione developed an extensive list of pranks to choose from. Now the only question was when to begin.

The answer came to her later that evening at dinner. While the family ate and chatted merrily, Hermione kept a curious watch on Fred. He was obviously still upset about that morning's incident at the shop, and he made no effort to conceal his anger. He ate his food deliberately while shooting glares at Hermione, then stood abruptly from the table and retreated to his room.

It was then that Hermione decided that one prank a day was quite enough. If she pushed it any further than that, Fred was liable to completely crack. She'd never seen him so prone to a mental breakdown, so she couldn't be sure what would happen afterward. It wasn't her intention to drive him to that point, anyway. She only wanted to harass him, to tease him. That wasn't so horrible, was it?

No, she didn't think it was. She would start tomorrow.

* * *

The next day was a Wednesday. It was also the first official day of Operation Bottled Rage—the nickname Hermione had come up with for her devious scheme. Sure, it was just a cute derivative of the potion that started this mess, but Hermione thought it was clever. And after what she'd seen of the Bottled Euphoria's results, it seemed fitting, too.

The twins had gone to work early again, closing the morning window for the delivery of her prank. That didn't bother her too greatly, though. Hermione could wait all day if she had to—her first plan didn't require much time or effort. It could be executed in about fifteen minutes that evening. Besides, Fred was likely to be more agitated after a day at work, thus making Hermione's prank all the more effective.

For most of the morning and afternoon, Hermione, Harry and the Weasleys kept busy with chores. Mrs. Weasley made a lengthy list of tasks, including de-gnoming the garden, tidying up the shed, and cleaning the bathroom. Instead of subjecting themselves to sweaty yard work, Hermione and Ginny offered to go grocery shopping for Mrs. Weasley.

The girls were at the store for nearly two hours. When they got back to the house, they found Harry and Ron in the middle of the garden, taking turns flinging gnomes out of the plants. After the groceries had been taken inside, Hermione went out to watch the spectacle. One particular gnome seemed to be giving Harry some trouble—he chased it around in circles and tripped over weeds in attempt to catch it. Hermione couldn't see the little creature, but she could certainly hear it cackling as it frolicked through the undergrowth.

"Come on, Harry!" Ron shouted. "Herd him over this way!"

Harry stood up from his most recent tumble and steered the nuisance toward Ron. The latter pounced upon the gnome, trapping it under his arms, and popped back up. As he hurled the troublesome creature away, it wailed and howled in protest. Then, with a thud, it smacked against the side of the house.

"Oops," said Ron, cringing. Severity of the collision aside, it didn't look like the gnome was seriously hurt. He staggered to his feet a few seconds later and wobbled away.

Both Harry and Ron cracked up, guffawing so loudly it seemed to echo across the lawn.

"Will you _please _keep it down? I'm trying to _work!" _

Hermione craned her neck toward the house in bewilderment. There was no mistaking it—the irritated tone, the clipped exclamations. Fred was home.

He slammed his window shut again, leaving Harry and Ron shrugging. They weren't concerned with Fred's unwarranted complaints, and resumed laughing with as much fervor as before. Hermione, on the other hand, was still confused. It was only three in the afternoon. Fred and George weren't supposed to be home from work for another few hours.

"Ronald," she called, marching toward the garden.

He looked at her warily. "What?"

"What are Fred and George doing home already?"

"Oh, that," he said offhandedly. "George sent Fred home early. I guess he started yelling at a customer or something, and George got tired of dealing with it."

She was surprised, but she figured she shouldn't have been. "I see."

As Ron and Harry went back to de-gnoming, Hermione was struck with a thought. Now was as good a time as any to perform prank number one. Fred was bound to be irritable, having actually been sent home from work. She had to act.

She went into the house, hoping she wouldn't attract any attention. As Hermione passed through the kitchen, she saw Crookshanks sitting by the table. Perfect. She picked up the giant ball of fur and carried him up the stairs with her to Fred's room.

Hermione knocked three times on the door, attempting to cover her smile. While she waited, she ruffled the fur on Crookshanks' head and bounced him in her arms. He tried uselessly to escape from Hermione's grip, becoming jittery when she wouldn't release him. Several moments later, Fred finally opened up and peered out at his uninvited guest. When he saw it was Hermione, he narrowed his eyes into thin slits.

"Can I help you?" he asked shortly.

"I was just wondering why you're home so early," she replied in the sweetest tone she could muster. She chose not to mention that Ron had just told her the reason.

Fred sighed. "If you _must _know, there was a customer at the shop that kept messing with our displays. Sound familiar?" She blushed at the memory. "When I asked him to leave, he started crying like a little girl. I decided to come home and do more productive work."

It was amazing how stories could change. "Oh," Hermione said. "What are you working on?"

"What's it to you?"

She shrugged. "I'm just curious." Crookshanks fidgeted in her arms, but she ignored him.

"I'm filling out some inventory records and placing orders for supplies." Fred moved aside to show Hermione his work station, which was cluttered with papers and rolls of parchment. "As you can see, nothing is organized. I'm trying to sort it all out."

"Ah." Hermione knew she had to take advantage of this opportunity. She slackened her grip on Crookshanks, just enough so he could struggle out of her arms. But, instead of scurrying into Fred's room like she planned, the cat launched himself directly on top of Fred's face.

"Oy!" Fred yelped. He toppled over backwards, trying to pull a hissing, spitting Crookshanks off his head. Hermione's eyes bulged as she hurried in after them. She grabbed Crookshanks and yanked, but her cat was firmly locked into place. Fred's cries of shock and pain were muffled by the orange ball of fur, and he writhed about as he tried to free himself.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione shrieked. "Crookshanks, no! Bad Crookshanks!" She was finally able to remove her cat from Fred's face and shoo him out of the room. "Oh, goodness, are you okay?"

Fred sat up, grumbling and breathing heavily. He didn't look as bad as Hermione would have thought—there were only a few minor scratches on his cheeks, and one just above his eyebrow. He seemed more shaken up than anything else.

"What is _wrong _with that cat?!" he demanded angrily. "You'd better keep an eye on him, or I'll turn him into a bloody pigeon!"

Hermione blinked at the randomness of that threat. "A pigeon?" she asked curiously, but shook her head. "Never mind. Are you okay?"

Fred snorted. "Sure, just fine. I was only attacked by a rabid, pig-faced cat, no big deal."

"Your scratches aren't very deep," she assessed. "I'm really sorry. I don't know why he did that. He's usually so sweet."

"Of course he is," he replied sarcastically, standing up slowly. "Could you please leave now?"

She was taken aback at the forward request, but she figured he probably had a right to be upset. The prank wasn't supposed to be painful—she'd only meant for Crookshanks to run around the room and make a mess of Fred's papers. She probably should have foreseen the volatility of her cat.

Hermione nodded and left Fred's room, mumbling another apology over her shoulder. Once she shut the door behind her, she sighed loudly. Well, it may not have been exactly what she'd planned, but it was definitely effective. What a way to kick off Operation Bottled Rage.


	7. Shifty

A/N: Here I am again, after a two-week-or-so hiatus. I'll blame it mostly on my new fascination with Lynsay Sands novels—for anyone who enjoys vampires, romances, or both, you should definitely check out her books. They're fantastic.

Anyway, I've returned with chapter seven. Thanks a billion to **oceanwaters2006 **and **InoXXPig **for leaving prank suggestions for me to work with. You'll definitely see them come into play in future chapters. You're awesome!

_**Chapter 7: Shifty**_

Hermione skipped down the stairs, assessing the outcome of her first prank. Truth be told, it probably could have gone better. The scratches on Fred's face were an unexpected consequence of her lack of planning—but of course, she hadn't taken into consideration how fickle Crookshanks could be. Or maybe she had, and that was the reason for involving her cat in the first place. All that aside, she supposed day one of the Operation was mostly successful. The desired result was to make Fred angry, and she'd certainly done that.

And yet, Hermione couldn't help but feel just a little guilty.

The feeling crept over her, settling heavily like an angry storm cloud. It was technically her fault that Crookshanks was so agitated; she'd bounced him and mussed his fur purposely so he'd be incensed upon his release into Fred's room. Well, it worked…almost too well. She didn't actually want to _hurt _Fred—she just hoped to give him a taste of his own mischievous medicine.

So she may not have been the best prankster in the world. It came down to lack of experience, really. In past years, there always seemed to be something better to do than honing her joke-playing skills. She figured things would sort themselves out—that is, _if_ she decided to go on with her schemes. She'd tried to repress her guilt, but she was having second thoughts already. Hermione wasn't sure if Operation Bottled Rage was worth continuing. It seemed like a lot of time and effort for something as trivial as her personal entertainment.

She shook her head to clear her mind. It was something she needed to consider, but it could wait until later.

Hermione stopped at the base of the steps and looked around. It was oddly quiet in the house: Mrs. Weasley was apparently finished with the kitchen and had taken Ginny out to begin work on the garden shed. Hermione knew she would be expected to join them—if she didn't, Ginny would never forgive her. She started toward the door, but was halted almost immediately by a shout of pain. It came from upstairs.

"What now?" she mumbled quietly. There was only one other person in the house, so she had little doubt the cry had come from Fred. But why? Was he subjecting himself to some kind of painful experiment? Or had Crookshanks returned to finish Fred off?

With that thought plaguing her conscience, Hermione hurried back up the steps, only slowing when she came to the landing outside Fred's room. The door was wide open, but there was no sign of Fred or her cat anywhere within. She stood there a moment, stumped, until she heard another soft yelp. _The bathroom_. Hermione tiptoed along the short hallway, then peered into the slightly ajar bathroom door. Sure enough, Fred stood before the mirror, grimacing as he pointed his wand to his face.

Hermione burst through the door, horrified. "What are you _doing_?" she demanded.

Fred jumped a foot in the air, his wand clattering to the floor as he did so. He turned to face Hermione, and she cringed sympathetically. It almost looked as if the cat scratches marring his skin had deepened and lengthened—though she couldn't figure out how that might have happened in the five minutes that Fred was alone. One of the cuts had begun bleeding, leaving a trail of crimson down his cheek. He looked like hell.

"Fred," she began, but didn't continue. She wasn't sure what to say.

He seemed to have relaxed a little since her surprise entry, but didn't look incredibly pleased to see her. "You know, bathrooms used to be a place where one could go to find privacy."

"The door was open," she reminded him smartly. Fred sighed with exasperation, but didn't retort. Hermione went on, trying to soften her tone. "I heard you shout from downstairs and wanted to see if you were okay."

"I'm fine," he grunted. Hermione rolled her eyes. He obviously _wasn't _fine, judging by the bleeding wounds on his face, but he'd never admit to it. Typical male.

"What were you doing with your wand?" she eventually asked.

"I was trying to heal the cuts."

Hermione's eyebrows flew up, the faintest of smiles tugging at her lips. She didn't know why she found that answer so amusing. "I really don't think blowing your face off would help anything, Fred."

He scowled and turned away, looking into the mirror again. "_Actually,_" he began with irritation, "I was trying a spell that Mum always used when we were younger."

"And…I suppose you got it wrong?" Hermione certainly hoped he'd gotten it wrong. Molly Weasley would have been a cruel mother if she used a spell to worsen the injuries her children suffered rather than heal them.

Fred rolled his eyes, grumbling. "So sue me. I never said I was a Healer."

"I guess not."

"They don't look any better, do they?" he asked miserably.

"No," she said. "They look worse." As she watched him wipe a drop of blood from his cheek, Hermione felt that nagging sensation of guilt claim her again. There was a look in Fred's eyes that made her sad—he seemed defeated, broken. She couldn't remember ever seeing those emotions in either of the Weasley twins. And, as she'd admitted to herself earlier, those scratches on his face _were _her fault. She had to take at least a little responsibility.

"Let me help," she suggested. Opening the medicine cabinet, she searched through the bottles until she found a simple antiseptic. They'd start with that.

"No," he said quickly, eyeing her warily. Hermione was almost insulted until he added, "That's going to hurt."

"Oh, please." She soaked a cotton ball with the disinfectant "Don't be such a baby."

Fred shot her a glare. "I'm _not _a baby," he defied in a low voice.

"Then prove it," she challenged lightly. When he said nothing further, Hermione touched the cotton ball to one of the bleeding scratches on his cheek. He hissed as soon as she made contact. "Come on," she soothed. "It's better than putting an eye out with your wand."

He grunted. "Says you."

"There's something to be said about doing things the muggle way," she said patronizingly. "It helps us appreciate how lucky we are to have magic."

He murmured something in apparent disagreement, but didn't fight as she continued cleaning his scratches. She wiped away the few droplets of blood, running the cotton ball over his eyebrows, cheeks, and nose. She hadn't realized just how many cuts there were until she'd volunteered to clean them. She'd also never realized how intense Fred's gaze could be. He stood watching her, almost unblinking, for several silent moments.

Finally, he asked, "Why are you helping me?"

"Because you needed it," she answered without thinking.

He sighed. "I know what you're trying to do, Hermione."

She froze, meeting his eyes. "You do?" she asked with uncertainty.

"Yeah." He nodded and lightly pushed her hand away. "You're playing nice so I won't take my revenge out on your bloody cat."

Her mouth opened and closed in mild surprise. She half expected him to say he knew all about her pathetic attempts at scheming—after all, he had seemed more observant since ingesting that potion. But, luckily, it looked like her pranks were safe. For now.

"I said I was sorry about that," she said, shaking her head. "I never meant for Crookshanks to attack you." That part, at least, was true.

"I'm having trouble believing your sincerity these days," he admitted casually.

Hermione set the cotton ball down and furrowed her brow at Fred. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means you used to be trustworthy. Nowadays—you seem different to me. Shifty. Almost like…well, not you."

Hermione felt as though she'd been punched in the chest. Did Fred really think that she wasn't trustworthy anymore? Integrity had always been top priority for her, even before she'd found her place as a Gryffindor. She'd always held honesty and fairness in high regard, and it was troubling to have that aspect of her personality questioned—even if it was Fred Weasley doing the questioning.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she replied softly, unable to meet his eyes. "But I don't know what you want me to do about it."

"It's just my opinion." His tone was more relaxed than it had been in days. "I don't really care what you do."

"Then why are we having this conversation?"

Fred shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? Why do people do a lot of the things they do?"

It was a strange question, and Hermione glanced up to share her puzzled expression. She became twice as puzzled, though, when she saw the tiniest of smiles upon Fred's face.

"For instance," Fred went on, taking a step closer to her. "I have absolutely _no _idea why I'm about to do this."

And then he lowered his face to Hermione's, pausing briefly before connecting them in a kiss. She stiffened in surprise, and before she could react, Fred lifted a hand to rest on the side of her face and pulled away. Hermione stared at him, totally at a loss for words. Had he just kissed her? It was so brief, she was almost sure she imagined it.

"I should probably apologize for that," he said, removing his hand from her cheek. His eyes hardened again, and there was no playfulness left in his appearance.

He didn't offer her a proper apology, though. Instead, Fred squeezed around Hermione to get to the door. "Thanks for helping with my scratches," he said, then disappeared into the hallway.

Now, that just wasn't fair. Hermione remained frozen to her spot in the bathroom, eyes wide and glued to the ground.

"Oh, and Hermione?" Fred called. She whipped around as he reappeared in the doorway, looking awfully solemn for someone who'd just stolen a kiss.

"Yes?" She was amazed at how dry her throat felt.

"Could you please leave me alone for the next few days? I've got a lot of work to do, and I can't afford all the interruptions."

Taking her stunned silence for agreement, Fred nodded curtly and vanished again. Hermione had never felt so many emotions at once—though it was easy to identify the most prominent: disbelief. Did Fred really have the audacity to ask her to leave _him _alone? After she'd just tended dutifully to his wounds? After he'd kissed her for no apparent reason?

"Ugh!" she groaned angrily, stomping her foot. This man—no, this redheaded _child—_had no tact at all! Where exactly did he get off telling her that _she _was shifty? In her opinion, it was a million times worse to insult someone's ethics than to behave a tad bit differently. And worse yet, he'd kicked her—or perhaps _kissed _was the better term—while she was down! That was inexcusable.

Hermione huffed as she recalled the guilt she'd experienced earlier. She actually felt _bad _that Fred had gotten hurt. Of course, he probably _wanted _her to feel guilty. He was laying it on thick in obvious hopes that she'd come begging for his forgiveness. And that was simply not happening. She had a brief moment of doubt, unsure if she was willing to continue—but she was finally able to overcome it. There was no room for guilt or doubt in the pranking business.

"_Could you please leave me alone for the next few days?"_

His words echoed in her brain, making her lips twist into an evil grin. Sure, she could leave _him_ alone…but she couldn't guarantee that his order forms wouldn't go missing, or his books wouldn't be misplaced…or even that his pumpkin juice wouldn't be replaced with lemon juice.

She scampered down the stairs, concentrating hard on how to improve her next few pranks. It didn't seem to matter anymore that Fred's rude, brash behavior had come about because of a failed potion. To Hermione, this was war, and it was personal.


End file.
